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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27599846">beneath the chandelier of stars and atmosphere</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewitchx/pseuds/rosewitchx'>rosewitchx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canonical Character Death, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Ghosts, Hopeful Ending, Reincarnation, Sky Gods - Freeform, Spoilers for the Second War stream</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:28:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27599846</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewitchx/pseuds/rosewitchx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Already he can see them packing up, moving from the ravine they’d called a home for bitter months; already he can see them walking towards the future. </p><p>He’ll stay, then. Someone has to watch over the valley of death. </p><p>— or, the ghosts of a president and a revolutionary are reunited.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jschlatt &amp; Wilbur Soot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>119</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>beneath the chandelier of stars and atmosphere</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title: midnight show - the killers<br/>again: SPOILERS FOR THE 16TH NOV STREAM!!!!!!!!!! I AM LOSING MY MIND RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He dies drowned in his mistakes. </p><p>That, he expected as much. Surrounded by his enemies (former friends, now all turned against him - or maybe he pushed them away, does it even matter now), waving a broken rum bottle around, yelling nonsense at them and throwing hits and just screaming his heart out. </p><p>And then the pain hits in. The illness, the addiction, the exhaustion and stress finally catches up with him; he is no longer the youthful scammer boy, after all, but a tired dictator, all alone. That is his role to play. And he will play it to a t. </p><p>And so he dies. Clutches at his chest, staring at Quackity (his biggest regret, this time) and chokes on the high, on the knowledge that if he dies - <em> when </em>he dies - the world will burn down with him. Wilbur and Techno are both here, after all. All they need is a button and a lighter. He believes in them; play your roles, as I have, and everything will be okay. </p><p>The crowd simply watches, confused yet apathetic, as he meets his end. </p><p> </p><p>Then he is alone. </p><p>He roams the wreckage, a phantom under the twilight, and laughs. Where there once stood his brilliant, beautiful country now there is a crater, a hole in the scorched earth. Nothing will ever grow in Manberg ever again; nothing can ever be rebuilt from its ashes. They will <em> try, </em>alright, because that is what the kids excel at. They give it their all and try over and over again, even if they get knocked down a million times for it. But this is just a fact: it will be near impossible to restore what was lost. </p><p>He doesn’t think anyone even wants to do that anymore. </p><p>Tubbo will make a good president, regardless. He’d made sure of it. He’d given the kid all the tools to rule, all as part of his plan, even if his apprentice hadn’t realized it at the time. Technoblade, Dream and their little posse will be a hurdle, but not one they can’t overcome. </p><p>They will succeed. But not in these barren lands. Already he can see them packing up, moving from the ravine they’d called a home for bitter months; already he can see them walking towards the future. </p><p>He’ll stay, then. Someone has to watch over the valley of death. </p><p> </p><p>An eternity passes. The forest becomes overgrown, but nothing ever blooms on Manberg. No one ever returns to the land born and dead out of war and conquest. </p><p>He sits there, anyway. Roams the ghost town. Sits by the hill that once hosted the White House and watches the years go by. He’s waiting, he thinks, for someone who may have already left. </p><p>Maybe he should leave, too. Nothing is worth salvaging, not that he could anyway. He looks up at the moon and breathes in the air (still ashy, even after all this time), pats at his suit jacket, runs a trembling hand through his hair. </p><p>“What a view, huh?”</p><p>He turns. There, pale in the moonlight, stands his old friend. </p><p>Over and over again they have died, over the seas of time and distance they have been reborn. Friends from the beginning of time, partners in crime, mortal enemies, whatever was needed of them they became. And it was fine. It was alright, as long as they were together. </p><p>And he looks just like he did when they were young. Yellow sweater, kind smile, not-crazed eyes. There’s no war scars, no stab wound through his heart. He doesn’t know what <em> he </em>looks like; does he look deranged to his best friend? Does he look like the monster he’s become?</p><p>Because Wilbur doesn’t. </p><p>“Was about to wonder when you’d show up,” he replies. The joy in his voice is impossible to disguise. “I missed you.”</p><p>“Missed you too, big man. Nice sweater.”</p><p>He looks down. “Ah,” he mumbles. He hadn’t noticed himself change. He reaches for his horns and misses their curled shape; they’re shorter now. “Didn’t realize.”</p><p>Wilbur laughs. Kind. Genuine. He moves around the rubble, weightless steps silently dancing around the disaster zone. “Felt good to finally go through with it. To finally be free from it all.”</p><p>“We’ll never be free,” he reminds him. “You and I both know this.”</p><p>The thousand voices watch. He had muted himself to them, hundreds of worlds ago, but still their whispers haunt him, faintly. His friend isn’t as lucky. And it doesn’t matter; whatever they do, whatever they attempt, they will always be tied to the whims of the gods. </p><p>“Perhaps,” Wilbur says. “But we can still have fun while at it.”</p><p>He ponders. “Maybe you’re right, loverboy,” he says, looking away from his companion. “What would <em> you </em> like to do next?”</p><p>There’s silence, for a bit. “I might come back,” he admits. “But I don’t know if I <em>want </em>to come back. There’s still work to be done here; Techno kinda went crazy for a moment, so I gotta deal with that. The boys probably won’t be too happy to see me. And my dad’s here, too.”</p><p>“Didn’t he stab you?”</p><p>“Yeah, but I asked him to.”</p><p>He sighs. “You’re a riot, Wilbur.”</p><p>“And you?,” Wilbur asks. “What will you do?”</p><p>What <em> will </em>he do, indeed?</p><p>He’s hurt so many people. He’s ruined everything, hundreds of thousands of times. And for what?</p><p>(For glory. For fame, like he always does. And he ended up alone, dead; always his role in the story, the one unchanging constant in every tale he’s been in. </p><p>He’s so, so tired.)</p><p>“I think,” he says, like he’s breaking an everlasting curse. “I think I want to go home.”</p><p>(He’s only ever had one home. It’s the house on top of the hill; it’s the golden city, long gone, lost to the code. But he’ll find home again.)</p><p>They hug underneath the stars, then. He laughs, relieved that their friendship didn’t die because of the wars - not this time, not yet, not yet. Wilbur follows. </p><p>“Then go home,” Wilbur tells him, finality but not cruelty in his tone, to his ear. “And we’ll see each other again later. We always do.”</p><p> </p><p>(When Schlatt leaves that night, hints of a lullaby in the corner of his eye, he knows Wilbur was right about that.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so.......... that stream 🧨, huh?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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